


Oil and Salt

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World, Dean Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Engineer Dean, Eventual Smut, Farmer Dean, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pilot Castiel, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:07:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being discharged from the military, Dean packs up and moves to Canada to work in the small mining town of Goderich. Everything is going great and he's finally starting to let go of his old life, when a man comes breezing into his new one who reminds Dean too much of the past he was trying to forget. </p><p>Castiel is an stunt pilot for the Canadian military. He loves his job, and his teammates, but lately can't shake the feeling of loneliness that's been scratching at the surface. Enter Dean Winchester, the handsome new man that just bought the Mason Murder House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gore Street

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

The rusted U-Haul truck gave a great sigh as it rolled hazardously onto the gravel drive of 37867 Gore Road; it’s tires desperately trying to find traction with it’s worn treads. Dean hated driving U-hauls and would have much preferred to have made the trip from Kansas in his father’s old Impala than in that rusted excuse for a vehicle. Hell, he wasn’t sure it was even road safe. Luckily it had managed to carry him to the old, slightly rundown farm house that the man was supposed to call ‘home-sweet-home.’ 

He yawned tiredly as he scrapped the worn plastic hatch open on the U-haul door, stepping out onto the drive. He had been driving for nearly fourteen hours straight, only stopping twice; once in Indianapolis for a tank of gas, and once in Sarnia for more gas and a greasy bag of take-out.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and trudged down the drive to plunk himself ungracefully on the farmhouse’s old porch swing. His realtor was supposed to meet him at the farm house at quarter after six. He raised his wrist to his face, staring blankly at the shiny watch that read ‘five forty five’. Half-an-hour early.

He sighed, unsure what to do with himself for half an hour before his realtor handed over the keys to his new home. I could catch a few z’s before she gets here, he thought. With a muffled groan that comes from sore muscles and too long sitting down, Dean stretched his body out on the chipped white surface of the porch swing. 

:::::

“Dean Winchester?” A feminine voice stirred him from his nap. He blinked his eyes wearily in the still-too-bright sun of the Canadian summer.

“Yeah,” he sat up slowly, “You, uh...you must be Tamara?” 

The woman in front of him was a tall, slender woman with dark skin and a short pixie cut. She smiled politely at him, “That would be me. I see you’re already starting to make yourself at home.” 

Dean looked down at the porch swing beneath him, “Yeah, I was early. Figured I’d get a bit of sleep in before I was absolutely forced to move my crap inside.” 

Tamara nodded, her hands fishing into the pocket of her black pencil skirt, “Well, sorry to spoil your nap. I have your keys here.” 

She held out a set of about four or five keys on a silver neck-chain. Dean reached for them mindlessly, his fingers looping around the chain as Tamara let them go.

“Thanks,” he nodded in her direction in a sort of perfunctory effort to convey his gratitude. 

Tamara nodded in much the same way and pointed to one of the keys, “That’s for the house.”

She pointed to the next as Dean held it up for a statement on it’s purpose, “The barn.” 

The next key, “The silo.” 

And so on, “The chicken coop, the shed, and the goat house.”

Dean nodded his acknowledgement, “Great.” 

Tamara nodded, “Well, if that’s all I can help you with Mr. Winchester, I’ll be heading out.” 

Dean nodded, “That’s it. Thanks, Tamara.” 

Tamara smiled, “No problem, Dean. You take care now.”

“You too,” Dean watched her walk down the porch steps and get into her Ford pickup. Once she had backed out of the drive she hung a right and headed out to the bluewater highway. 

He let another deep sigh leave him before leaving the relative comfort of the porch swing to fish the rolled up sleeping bag and pillow from the passenger seat of the U-Haul. He tucked the soft roll under his arm and made his way back to the steps of the farm house. He slid his new house key into the lock and turned until the tumblers clicked and the door squeaked open. 

He cringed at the smell of too much bleach and Windex; the remains of the effort it took to wipe the blood from the century old hard-wood. The house had been an estate sale he had gotten for cheap (not many people were too keen to buy murder houses). 

He wrinkled his nose and set his bed roll down in the middle of the moderately-sized living room. It felt a bit like squatting as he crawled into the sleeping bag and hit the pillow like a rock. He was soon asleep. 

::::

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

“Dean? Dean, you in there?” 

This time, when Dean was woken in up, it was morning. The sun was peaking softly through the windows and he groaned.

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

“Jesus, I’m coming! Give me a minute, would ya?”

He shimmied out of his sleeping bag, not bothering to unzip it as he shuffled to the door. He opened it blearily and glared at the familiar man on his door step. 

“Daniel, it’s,” he checked his watch, “six am. What the hell do you want?” 

Daniel Elkins huffed at him, “Nice to see you too. I had popped by to say welcome to the neighborhood with a invitation to breakfast, but if your highness needs his beauty sleep..” 

Dean sighed and opened the door a little wider to invite his father’s old military friend into his new house, “Fine, if I must enjoy free food.”

Daniel laughed, pushing past Dean and into the house, “You don’t have any other clothes out I suppose?” 

Dean shook his head with a yawn, “Nah, everything is still in the van. I hope you don’t mind dining with a man of questionable scent.” 

Daniel shrugged, “The girls at the Grill have seen worse than you roll through their doors.” 

Dean stretched out his limbs with a tired crack, “Well, my baby’s still hooked up to the trailer, so I guess you’re driving too.”

Daniel rolled his eyes as Dean scratched his armpits lazily, “Guess so. Come on, before the rush starts.” 

Dean gestured to the door, “Lead the way, boss.” 

Daniel shook his head and lead Dean out the door and into his own ford pickup. Dean shut the door on the passenger side and clicked the belt into place over his hips, “So does everyone around here drive a Ford?” 

Daniel chuckled as he pulled the truck out onto the road, “Pete out on Hawkins drives a Chevy.”

Dean grinned, “Good man.” 

Daniel nodded, “Good enough, as men come.” 

::::

They rolled into Goderich at quarter-past and parked the old pickup in front of Goderich Grill on courthouse square (a street which was incidentally a circle and not an actual square). 

Dean slinked out of the pickup and stretched his limbs lazily, “Original name.” 

He refereed to the ingenious title of ‘Goderich Grill’ which had been standing for a few decades now (not including the eleven month period of renovation after the tornado that ripped through town four years prior). 

Daniel shrugged, “Doesn’t have to be original, just has to serve good food.” 

Dean quirked his lips and shrugged in agreement; as long as they had the real maple syrup he was promised upon immigrating he couldn’t care less what they named the place.

He followed Daniel inside the restaurant where a sign proclaimed in big chalk letters that they seat themselves. Daniel took no notice of the sign; having been a regular customer of the establishment for the past ten years, he simply walked right in and sat down at a table near the right wall of the restaurant. 

Dean followed, pulling out a plastic chair that belonged to the 90’s, “So, what does this place got to eat?” 

Daniel rose a brow, “Just your usual Canadian breakfast foods. I warn you though, if you’re in a mood for grits, you’ll find none here.” 

Dean wrinkled his nose in distaste, “Never liked the stuff anyway.” 

A plump woman about sixty or so seemed to notice their arrival as she scuttled over to them with a set of menus clutched in her slightly wrinkled hands, “Elkins! Good to you see you. How’s work at the mine?” 

Daniel smiled, “Hey Ellie. The mine is fine, still operating at top form.” 

Ellie grinned widely as she set down the menus, “Good, good. Can’t let our biggest export run dry now. Who’s your friend?” 

Daniel patted Dean roughly on the shoulder as way of introduction, “This here is Dean. I served with his Daddy in the marines. Got him a job working Benjamin's old shift.” 

Ellie smiled, “So you’re a mechanic then? That’s nice.”

Dean cleared his throat and shook his head, “Engineer, actually. I’ll be working maintenance on the machines down in the mine, as well as fixing up the dump trucks down there.” 

Ellie nodded with a smile, “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, son. Let me know when you’ve decided on your breakfast.” 

Dean gave the old gal a winning smile and a polite, ‘yes ma’am.’ She shook her head fondly before scuttling off to another customer.

Dean flipped open the worn, slightly ripped menu and perused the breakfast section. It wasn’t exactly a buffet of selection, but there were enough options to make his morning meal interesting. He scanned the options, hoping for something with bacon, and preferably pancakes.

“Hey, what do you usually get?” Dean looked up to see Daniel hadn’t even opened the menu; obviously having memorized their options by now. 

“Oh, I usually get one of their skillets; a bunch of meat and cheese and stuff all scrambled up with eggs and potatoes. Margo has the best ones in this town. Granted, she only has about two other places competing for title,” Daniel shrugged once more, a peculiar habit that Dean was starting to pick up on.

“Hmm,” he looked back at the menu before deciding on just saying what he wanted; pancakes and bacon.

Instead of Ellie coming back to their table, a younger woman in her mid to late forties was the one to return for their order, “You’ve decided then?” 

Daniel nodded, “The usual for me, Donna.” 

The woman nodded and a strangling red curl fell from he pony tail and into her face, “And for you?” 

Dean flipped his menu closed, “I’ll have blueberry pancakes and a side of bacon.” 

Donna nodded, “You want regular or peameal?” 

Dean squinted his brow, “Huh?” 

Daniel rolled his eyes, “Give him one of each; he just immigrated from America. Time to immerse him in Canadian culture.” 

Donna scoffed, “If you say so. I’m not sure how peameal bacon can be considered culture... Anything to drink?” 

They both ordered a cup of coffee and watched as she scribbled on her notepad before wandering off to the kitchen.

Dean rose his brow, “Is that some sort of fancy Canadian bacon?” 

Daniel shrugged, “Fancy, no. Bacon, yes. It’s pretty much a slice of pig with fat and peameal on the edges. Good as hell though. Put it on a burger with a fried egg and some onion and you’re looking at one of the best burgers you’ve ever had.” 

Dean wasn’t sure anything could trump the bacon double cheeseburgers from the Roadhouse. He raised his brow skeptically but didn’t comment. 

A good ten minutes later and Ellie popped out of the kitchen with three plates in hand and waddled over to them, “Here we are; a western skillet for Elkins with a side of Hollandaise sauce; and for our new friend Dean, a stack of blueberry pancakes and two sides of bacon done both ways.” 

She placed the plates on the table as she listed them off and Dean grinned at the tower of three, majorly fluffy breakfast cakes on his plate, “Awesome.” 

Ellie smiled politely, “Enjoy.” 

::::

Daniel pulled into the drive of 37867 Gore Street at eight am, “Do you need a few extra hands getting your stuff inside?”

Dean hopped out of the truck, “If you wouldn’t mind. Some of the furniture is too big to carry by myself.” 

Daniel nodded, “Best get too it then. I have a dentist appointment at noon.” 

It didn’t take them too long to unload everything once they had gotten the Impala unhooked from the truck (they kept it attached to the car trailer, so that when Dean had to bring back the van he’d have a ride home). 

The last thing the brought into the house was an old brown suede couch which they shoved unceremoniously in living room corner. They grunted from the strain on their muscles before pulunking down into the sofa they had just hauled in. 

Dean panted out a sigh, “Thanks, man. For everything.” 

Daniel waved his hand, “Don’t mention it. Just don’t fuck up this job or it’ll be both out heads on the chopping block. Speaking of, I’ve got some of your papers in my glove compartment. You wait here while I go get them.” He struggled to his feet from the sink hole of a couch and shuffled out the screen door to the porch.

Dean sighed, stretching out his limbs and looking around the small open concept space of his new home. The previous owner had obviously renovated the place well (before he was murdered and the property value dropped, this place would have fetched a pretty penny). The kitchen had dark granite counter tops and a small island that broke up the kitchen and living room space. The cupboards were a dark cherry wood that contrasted well with the lighter birch hardwood. It was a beautiful kitchen. Unfortunately Dean didn’t see himself cooking in it much. As a kid he had spent many years cooking for his brother and had since lost his willingness to do it (it didn’t help that in the six years he served at Fort Riley, that all his meals had been prepared for him). 

Daniel kicked the door open lightly and threw a folder on his lap, “Here. Your contract, your union papers, and anything else management threw at me.” 

Dean nodded and opened the folder on his lap, briefly skimming the contents before closing it, “Thanks, Daniel.” 

Daniel nodded, “No problem. I have to be heading out now, enjoy settling in.” 

Dean smiled, “See ya.” 

Daniel waved over his shoulder as he left. 

Dean took another look at the mess of boxes around him before deciding he’d better start making some headway. He pulled himself out of the couch and set to work tearing open boxes. His new life in Goderich, Ontario was going to be a bit uncomfortable if he didn’t.


	2. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually been to the farmer's market near Godrich but I've driven past it dozens of times on the way into town. (P.s I have a cottage on Kintail beach; which explains my mostly intimate knowledge of the town)

The floorboards creaked underneath his socked feet as he padded across the second level of the Mason Murder House. He carried a large black duffel slung across his shoulders and his legs bowed out more noticeably as he lugged its weight across the doorway of his new bedroom.

Dean heaved a sigh and threw the bag down near the foot of his single bed with its worn metal frame and its lumpy old mattress. He pulled the zip from one end of the duffel to the next and yanked a set of time-worn military bed clothes from the top off his meagre wardrobe.

It was what he had left from his time stationed at Fort Riley, Kansas. He shook them out and laid the blankets on the footboard of the metal bed frame. He patted and smoothed the off-white (once stark-white) sheets over the mattress and then adjusted the blankets on top. A cool gel pillow followed, it’s cotton casing torn at the edges. (The pillow had been a gift to himself when he joined the fort. He could let himself have some luxuries at least.)

Dean put away his clothing next, stuffing them into the drawers of an antique dresser that was left behind with the house. He tried not to think of the dead man who left it behind.

There hadn’t been a lot of furniture left with the house. Only a few things that were too old or too worthless to be sold at auction. This included the dresser, which was scratched from the base to about a foot up by some sort of animal (likely a cat or small dog); a broken grandfather clock that seemed to be permanently stuck at three o’clock; a small wooden cradle in the guest room that was covered in dust and cobwebs (no child had slept in it for at least a decade if not longer); and a single dining chair with a crooked leg and a rip in the floral cushion. Dean had dragged everything but the dresser and the cradle up to the attic to sit in a dark, dry purgatory for the foreseeable future.

He closed the dresser drawers and went back down the stairs to finish up with the remaining boxes. He had only two left, one containing his dishes and the other the minimal amount of books in his possession.

He opened the book box first, bringing it over to a plywood shelf he had shoved into the corner near the old brick fireplace in the living room. He tore the plastic packing tape of with his hands and dug his books from the fraying box. He lined them up by the handful on the shelves. (Dean had no particular system for his belongings.) Satisfied with the half-assed arrangement of his twenty-or-so books, he moved on to the dishes in the kitchen.

He tore into the box and peered into the top only too curse loudly at the contents. A pile of brown and white shards stood in place of where his dished were supposed to be, “Crap.”

All his dishes were broken, they must have broken on the long trip over.

_RING RING RING_

Dean swore gently under his breath and pulled his buzzing phone from his back pocket.

“Hello?”

“Dean! How’s the move going? You settling in okay?” Sam Winchester’s voice blared happily through the small speaker of Dean’s phone.

Dean smiled, “Hey, Sammy. The move was fine. I’m on my last box.”

“That’s great, Dean! I’m surprised you got everything in the house so quickly,” Sam expressed his (not unfounded) doubt of his brother’s productivity.

Dean snorted, “There weren’t that many boxes. Besides, Daniel helped me drag most of the stuff inside. Of course, now I have to go buy new dishes. Mine are completely shattered.”

Sam sighed, “I told you to wrap them in newspaper.”

Dean shrugged despite Sam not being able to see it, “Yeah, yeah. I told you so and all that. I needed a new set anyway. Those ones were getting to be a really chipped up mess.”

Sam might have been rolling his eyes as he replied, “Just try not break the new ones on the way home.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Uh, huh.”

“So, broken dishes aside; how’s the house look? Not too haunted I hope,” Sam’s voice was kind (even with the double meaning behind his words).

“It’s fine. A little shabby, but I’m sure I can fix it up with a bit up paint and elbow grease. The Barn on the other hand needs a ton of work. I might have to bring someone in for that,” He shifted the phone to his shoulder and picked up the box of shattered dishes to bring to the trash at the side of the house.

“That’s good. I’m sure there are plenty of people around who know how to fix a barn,” there was a shuffling sound on Sam’s end (as if they had both decided at the same time that talking could be done while moving).

“Hopefully. How’s Jess? Still a balloon?” Dean grinned as he dumped the box into the dumpster and stalked back inside.

Sam laughed, “Jess is good. She’s a bit moody though, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sent out in the middle of the night to buy rocky road ice cream.”

Dean chuckled, “Really? I would have thought you of all people would be able to put his foot down with a pregnant wife.”

“I tried to get her to eat low-fat frozen yogurt instead but she nearly bit my ear off,” Sam sounded both amused and horrified by a traumatic experience.

Dean smiled happily, “Well, rocky road is a classic flavour after all. I’m sure you kid is having a party in the womb with all that sugar.”

Sam chuckled, “Maybe they are. Anyway, I just wanted to check in. I have to go now though; I have a mound of paperwork for the Bigerson’s case still to do.”

Dean nodded, “You go do your thing. Tell Jess I said hi.”

“Alright. Bye, Dean.”

“See ya, Sammy.”

:::::

There were quite a few options for flatware at the local Walmart but he ended up going with a set of pale blue dishes; the kind of powdery blue reserved for robins eggs and baby clothes. He also bought two cans of shaving cream, a bag of potting soil, and a garden trowel.

Goderich was like most small towns it seemed. There was a majority in small shops with a few glaringly corporate stores; in this case, a Walmart, a Boston Pizza, a McDonalds, and an LCBO (Dean was informed this stood for the Liquor Control Board of Ontario and he made it his mission to visit it sometime in the coming week.)

He waited patiently at the checkout as a disinterested teenage girl scanned his items through. She had the sort of unfriendly aura that said ‘I smoke weed under the bleachers.’ Dean supposed that was about all there was for kids to do in this town (the two-screen movie theatre made a valiant effort, but fell short most days.)

“So uh,” he looked at her name tag briefly as she bagged his shaving cream, “Alex. What is there to do around here?”

Alex looked at him with a raised brow, “Nothing really. There’s an air show in a week; the Falcons stunt team.”

Dean made a short sound of interest, “I’ll have to check it out.”

Alex nodded, seeming surprised he was sticking around, “You just passing through? Or did you rent a cottage out by Kintail?”

She pointed a black-polished fingernail at the total on the little screen and Dean held up a credit card in acknowledgement. He slide his chip into the machine as he replied, “Nah. Just moved. Starting work at the mine.”

Alex laughed breathily, a sort of sad, pitying thing, “Welcome to hell, dude.”

Dean laughed and looked up as he finished punching in his pin, “Can’t be that bad.”

Alex hummed, “You wait. Give it two months and you’ll be begging for the city.”

Dean smiled, “You didn’t grow up in the country I take it?”

Alex shook her head, “I lived in Burlington until recently. My mom got a little…well, nuts. I live in a foster home now; and not just any foster home. I’m the sheriff’s kid.”

Dean smiled as he picked up his bags, “Must be rough. See, you round kid.”

She waved, “Uh huh. Next!”

Dean brought the bags out to the parking lot and threw them in the back of Baby’s trunk. He tapped the steering wheel once or twice before starting the engine and heading off to find the farmer’s market Daniel had told him about at breakfast.

::::

It wasn’t too far from his new house apparently. He wandered around the market in search of seeds to plant (he had promised his brother he would grow a pumpkin so that when he came down for thanksgiving in the fall that he could make him a pie. Of course, it would likely be Jess who ended up making it, but that was just semantics.)

He fingered a paper sign pointing him in the direction of crop products and followed it to a counter where a gangly young man with a mullet typed away on an ancient computer.

“Hey man. Can you tell me where the seeds are? Pumpkin, to be specific,” He placed his forearm on the counter and gave him a winning smile that went ignored.

The man continued to clatter away for another minute before looking up at Dean, “How many acres are you planting?”

Dean hadn’t thought about it. He was only looking to plant about four or five pumpkins, “Um, like…four pumpkins.”

The man rose a brow, “Four pumpkins?”

Dean nodded, leaning back and stretching out his arms to indicate a giant pumpkin, “Like four, really….big pumpkins.”

The man gave him a strange look, “Right. We only sell in acre bulk. The smallest you can get is 1 acre which is about 4000 square meters give or take. If you’re only looking to plant four pumpkins, I’d try Walmart.”

Dean frowned, “I was just there.”

The guy shrugged unsympathetically, “Sorry man. This is a _farmer’s market_ , not a gardener’s market.”

Dean huffed but nodded, “Okay. Okay, I’ll just go back to Walmart.”

::::

He didn’t go back to Walmart. He went back home and took a nap on his porch swing because he honestly had had enough social interaction for the day.

He let his eyes flutter shut as he swung lazily on the swing and listened to the steady thrum of the Mason Murder House. There was a peculiar sound to it; a sort of creaking heartbeat that stuttered and leapt as the wind rattled the shutters gently against old windows. It wasn’t a particularly comforting sound, but it was better than silence. (Dean always found quiet to be more disturbing as it allowed his mind pause to wander into unfriendly pasts that seemed to constantly sit on the razor’s edge.)

He would buy pumpkin seeds tomorrow. It was only Sunday after all; he still had a full week until he started work. There was plenty of time to get settled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got around to the second chapter finally. (Next chapter is likely going to be from Castiel's POV) (P.s The Snowbirds are the Stunt Team that inspired this fic.)


	3. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little shorter, but it's just sort of a filler for the most part (and an intro for Cas, yay!)

The airbase was silent except for the creaking of crickets and the high notes of a wren’s song. It was 1300 hours and the hanger was empty, the beds vacant, and the only human within a 5 km radius was a young girl and her father bringing their cows into the field.

It was common place for the base to be abandoned; after all, no one had been stationed there since the world wars, and even then it had only been a training camp.

The runway was old, with cracks in the pavement that hadn’t been filled in years. The most action it saw was mischievous teens out too late and the one week a year when the hanger was filled with the sleek, black and white falcons.

It wasn’t that week yet, but almost.

Castiel sat 750 km away from Goderich at a picnic table in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen. He brought a chocolate dipped cone up to his mouth to suck the dripping ice cream from his fingertips. Balthazar, one of his esteemed Falcon team mates was tapping his fingers along the rim of the beer in his hand as he lounged with his back to the table.

“You know, I always look forward to Goderich. It’s a nice town. Not to mention the bakery…those cream puffs? _To die for,_ ” Balthazar sloshed the beer around in its can.

Castiel shrugged, intent on keeping his fingers clean by catching any wayward drops of cream, “I never particularly cared for cream puffs. The macaroons on the other hand…those were always worth the line ups.”

Balthazar hummed, “Too many raisins.”

“I like raisins,” Castiel defended as his ice cream began spilling over his hand. He compensated with a large gaping bite at the top, pulling it back into his mouth.

Balthazar snorted gently, “Of course you’d like fruit in your desert. I prefer my sweets free of health.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, “You sound like Gabriel. Besides, adding raisins doesn’t make them healthy.”

Balthazar frowned, “I’m nothing like that twit.” 

“You are cousins,” Castiel reminded him of the relation he wished he could just forget entirely. The family friction was put aside for flights, but that didn’t stop him from thinking the man was an ass.

“We are, and it’s a burden I have to bear I’m afraid,” Balthazar tipped the last of his beer past his lips. He placed the empty tin on the scratched up wood of the picnic table, just on top of a heart with the words ‘J+K 5Ever’ carved messily in the center.

Castiel flicked the ice cream from his hand and wiped it awkwardly on a napkin he’d placed in front of him. Balthazar offered him a look of amusement.

“You are absolutely shit at eating, Cassie,” Balthazar grinned.

Castiel glared with mild derision before going back to his cone. He had polished off the top lump and proceeded to dig his tongue into the cardboard excuse for food.

Balthazar ignored him. Instead he turned his head to the approaching head of dirty blond, “There’s our baby bird!”

Samandriel approached them with the same rigid posture he kept during duty. He was dressed in an old bomber jacket (his father’s from the Vietnam War), and a pair of old denim jeans. He was a handsome young man…but he was serious. Being the rookie of the Falcons (24 years old and six months on the team) he had some insecurities around his fellow team members.

“Novak; Coburn,” he addressed them each by their last names.

Balthazar winced, “Come on Sam, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Balthazar? Coburn is such an ear-sore.”

Castiel gave him a wry smile, “It’s easier to say than your first name.”

Balthazar furrowed his brow, his forehead wrinkling into well used worry lines, “Then he should just call me lover…or cupcake. Anything but Coburn.”

Samandriel sighed, “I don’t see how cupcake could be any better than your family name, but I’m not here to talk about pseudonyms.  Anna said you were here and sent me to fetch you. We’re taking off in two hours and you still haven’t done your pre-flights.”

Balthazar groaned, “Already? Geez, breaks go by fast when you work for the military.”

Castiel nodded, his ice cream done, and his cone discarded in a soiled napkin. He pushed up from the table and threw the trash in a nearby bin, “Let’s go then. It’s been a while since I was home.”

:::::

The goat house stood awkwardly on tin buckets and cinderblocks. It was a complete hack job, and Dean really didn’t think it was fit for anything other than storing body parts. Apparently it had been a thought he shared with the previous owner.

“So he actually kept goats in this thing?” He eyed the frayed and clipped apart chicken wire pulled tightly across the sawed out ‘windows’.

Daniel huffed and shrugged his shoulders. He took a long swig of beer out of a bottle he had when he arrived a half hour earlier, “Beats me. Mr. Mason wasn’t the most sociable of folks. But you know, when you live half a mile from all your neighbours I suppose solitude can become you easily.”

Dean chuckled, “Yeah, he was really solitary…you know, not counting the fifteen prostitutes they found littered around the farm in varying states of decay.”

Daniel huffed again, “Except for that. Crazy old badger. And his wife had been such a sweet woman the few times I met her. Shame she had to die like that.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah…well. Shall we get to work? I want to get some goats in here by next Sunday.”

Daniel huffed for not his third time in the last hour and they went to work demolishing the goat house.

::::

Dean had hoped to keep some of it standing, but in the end the wood was too wet and rotted from years of neglect.

They had purchased supplies for a new house thankfully, and within a few hours (lunch break not included) they had the new house mostly finished (that is, there was four walls, a simple platform for climbing, and a tin roof.)

Daniel wiped the sweat from his brow and took a swig from the beer bottle in his hand (not the same one he started with, but the third he had pulled from the cooler in the bed of his truck.)

“It’s not bad. I’m sure your goats will love it. Just needs a paint job is all,” Daniel scratched the thin stubble on his face and circled the new and improved goat house.

Dean grinned happily, “Yeah. Thanks for helping out. I could have done it alone, but it’s a lot easier with an extra set of hands.”

Daniel tipped his beer towards him with a curt, “No problem.”

Dean stretched out his back and groaned as his shoulders clicked, “Now I just have to but some paint and goats.”

Daniel smiled, “Well, I’m not helping you paint the thing, but if you need advice on goats I can help you out. I’ve had Buffy and Angel for a few years now so I’d like to think I know a few things.”

Dean smirked, “You named you’re goats after Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

Daniel rose a brow, “Why not?”

Dean shrugged with a smile, “Just didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

Daniel shrugged, “My nephew named Buffy. I already had Angel; didn’t know it was a TV show until one of the guys started ribbing me.”

Dean laughed at that, “Sounds like something that would happen to you.”

Daniel grunted in annoyance and shook his head, “Yeah, well…Buffy suits her just fine. She’s a bit of a headstrong doe that one.”

_Vrooooooshhhhh_

 A loud wind cracking sound and the unmistakable roar of a turbojet engine passed above them.

Dean turned his head to the sky to see a formation of nine planes pass overhead.

Daniel looked up as well, “Huh. Looks like the Falcons are back in town. Didn’t know it was that time of the year already.”

Dean watched the red and white planes fly out of sight before turning back to Daniel, “The girl at the Wal-Mart said the show wasn’t until the weekend. It’s still Wednesday.”

Daniel nodded, “Yeah. They fly in early so that they can do maintenance and relax a bit beforehand. One of the pilots is a local boy too. He normally sticks around for a few weeks after the annual show. They have a couple of replacements you know? They can’t be on duty all the time. Plus Goderich is their last show of the season. They do a few in the fall months, but it’s just private and national demos to my understanding.”

Dean hummed in thought, “So you know a lot about them then? The Falcons I mean?”

Daniel nodded, “Sure. Novak helps the local farmers with dusting when he’s around. Plus he’s the Mayor’s kid, so he’s sort of in the towns light spotlight. Even if no one is particularly fond of his mother. Though you have to hand it Naomi Novak, she knows how to get shit done.”

“Isn’t she with the republicans or something?” Dean quirked a brow.

“It’s just conservatives in the North; not republican. I’m more of a green party man myself, but that’s just cause I want marijuana to be legalized,” Daniel took a swig of his beer and began heading towards his pick-up.

Dean grinned, “For your hip right?”

Daniel scowled, “How old do you think I am?”

Dean laughed, “Well, you’re only a year or two younger than Bobby…so like what… 60? 62?”

Daniel frowned, “I’m 58, Jackass.”

Dean chuckled, “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally got the name for the Mason murder house from Hannibal. (It's named after Mason Verger if you were wondering.) Also the chapter title is lame but w/e


	4. Hangar

Castiel stretched his limbs as he emerged from the small one-man plane. It had been a long trip from Montreal. He pulled his googles down over his eyes and face to let them dangle loosely around his neck. He didn’t like the red rings they left behind, but he was used to it by now.

Around him, the others were climbing out of their own planes, hands and limbs stretching after the three hour flight. Balthazar was fishing around in his pocket for his customary ‘post-flight cigarette’; a habit that Castiel had told him many times would lead to his early grave.

After he located the crinkled Marlboro box, he lit a match (ever the old-fashioned man) and lit the end. He took a drag and made his way over to Castiel, who unfortunately always flew at his right flank.

“Cassie! How is it you always manage to look windswept after a flight? Do you have a crack in your canopy, or are you just naturally gorgeous?” Balthazar blew a puff of smoke to the side and grinned happily.

“Stop flirting and get back to work, Coburn!” Anna commanded from her spot at lead point, (they always hangered their aircraft according to formation that they flew in, so this put her in the middle with Balthazar to her left, and Gabriel to her right.)

Balthazar took another drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the pavement and stomping it under his foot, “She needs to loosen up a bit; not like these planes are going anywhere.”

Castiel shrugged, “Just do your job and she’ll stop telling you to do it.”

Balthazar scoffed and waved, “Nah, no fun in letting her have her way.”

Still, he wandered back over to his plane, _the Richardson_ (named for James Cleland Richardson) and ran his hand over the sides of her, checking for damage. The team had engineers to do the actual maintenance on the planes, but they could all spot minor damages that needed attention.

Castiel stretched out his back one final time and set to work on checking over _the Rutherford_ (named for Lieutenant Charles Smith Rutherford).  He let his hand skim over the red-painted metal of his (he says his, even though it belongs to the Royal Canadian Air Force) CT-114 Tutor.

“So I heard your mum is going for re-election this fall?” Balthazar called over.

Castiel nodded despite Balathzar’s inability to see through solid metal, “She is. She’ll probably win too. Goderich is historically conservative. It’s a shame really. I always voted for the other guy.”

Balthazar chuckled, “That’s some fine devotion there, Cassie.”

Castiel shrugged, “I can’t help it if I lean more towards the left centre.”

“So you’re an NDP guy are you?” Balthazar’s voice was muffled as he moved to the far side of the Richardson.

“I don’t know really. I just vote for whoever I think has the best platform at the time. Last provincial election I voted Green,” Castiel had the sort of attitude towards politics that was more along the lines of healthy anarchy than complete democracy. He didn’t pay so much attention that he constantly fretted over it. His main concern regarding government was military funding; and then only because it had to do with his pay check.

“Well, I’ve always been a Liberal myself; peace, love, and all that jazz,” Balthazar rounded the front of the Richardson as Castiel made his way to the back of the Rutherford.

“You’ve never talked about politics before; why the big interest all of a sudden?” Castiel found a small dent in his smoke machines and made a mental note to have Heather take a look at it.

Balthazar laughed as he moved to the left of the plane to meet Castiel in the middle as he rounded the right of his, “Well this election is especially interesting. It’s been a while since we’ve had anyone as young and as good looking as Justin Trudeau running for Prime Minister.”

“You’re very shallow. Do you even know what his platform is?” Castiel raised a brow at his friend.

Balthazar gave him a winning smile, “Not a clue.”

Castiel shook his head and sighed in exasperation, “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey, are you two done yet?” Gabriel popped his head between their planes with a shit-eating grin slapped on his face as per usual. “Come on, Cuz. Me and you are bunking together again.”

Balthazar groaned, “Why does God hate me? Was it because I pulled Jill Sampson’s hair in fifth grade? I swear it was because I had a crush on her and not because I was a cruel boy.” 

Gabriel laughed, his stomach shaking with it as he approached them and slung an arm around the taller blonde, “You were a cruel boy. There’s no denying that you were the smart, troubled, bully of Woodland elementary. You drove Mr. Thompson to tears nearly every Wednesday.”

Balthazar snorted, “He wouldn’t have been so easy to make fun of if he had gotten rid of that ridiculous toupee.”

Gabriel grinned, one hand fishing around in his jumpsuit, “See? Cruel boy.”

Castiel rolled his eyes as Gabriel removed a lollipop from his jumpsuit’s pocket and stuck it in his mouth.

“Well, I have to go report some minor damage to Heather, and then I’m sure Michael will summon me to speak about it when he finds out,” Castiel cringed slightly just mentioning his over-bearing brother and Lieutenant-Colonel in charge of the Falcons.

“Geez, have fun with that,” Gabriel wrinkled his nose. It was always interesting to see him respond to rank. Especially considering he had been offered the title of Major but had turned it down to remain Anna’s Captain.  It was quite the roster making up the Falcon Aerial team. If one were to look at a list it would read similar to this:

**Lieutenant-Colonel Michael Novak**

**Major Anna Milton**

**Captain Gabriel Coburn**

**Captain Balthazar Coburn**

**Lieutenant Castiel Novak**

**Lieutenant Virgil Hill**

**Lieutenant Uriel Jones**

**Lieutenant Gadreel Ulrich**

**2 nd Lieutenant Abner McCann **

**2 nd Lieutenant Samandriel Eaton**

**2 nd Lieutenant Heather Mitchell**

**2 nd Lieutenant Joshua Barnett**

Everyone on the list flew except for Heather and Joshua (the team’s resident engineers). Michael occasionally flew in Anna’s place at center point, but more often than not he just did ‘important paper-work’ and wined and dined with big wigs on behalf of their little squadron.

Castiel sighed, “Yeah; pray for me as I head to slaughter.”

He waved at his team mates as he wandered to the little office at the far north of the hangar where he’d likely find Heather and Joshua bumming about until their services were needed. They were there two days before the rest of the team arrived (every year without fail they wandered into this office with a deck of cards and a box of screws for poker chips.)

Just as he knew they would be, Castiel found the two engineers playing a game of poker at old rickety desk. Heather had her feet kicked up on the corner and her normally tight bun was loosening, causing her blonde hair to tumble in strands around her face. Joshua has his hands folded neatly, the air of calm floating around him.

“Two kings! Beat that old man!” Heather smirked as she threw down her cards.

Joshua shook his head, “Aces high.” Two red aces where placed on the table and Heather frowned.

“Damn your poker face,” she pouted, her military issue jacket falling open over her t-shirt as she pushed her screws over to his side of the table.

Castiel coughed softly to announce his presence, “Do you two ever sight regulation?”

The two straightened up as he entered, “Sir. We didn’t hear you come in.”

Castiel sighed, “Its fine. One of the smoke machines on the Rutherford appears to have some minor damage. Finish your game then take a look at it.”

Joshua nodded, “We were just finishing anyway. 2nd Lieutenant Mitchell was just about to forfeit.”

Heather snorted, “Hey, I could have won it back.”

Joshua chuckled, “Not in this lifetime.”

Castiel smiled, he liked the brief glimpses he caught of the engineer’s bizarre relationship.

“Well, whenever you admit defeat, get to it. I have an appointment with my brother who will hear of this eventually,” Castiel nodded at them.

Heather winced in sympathy, “He’s in the Commander’s bunk-house.”

Castiel sighed, “Right. Thanks.”

With a sense of uneasy trepidation he made his way to his Brother’s private bunk to just ‘get it over with.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop, another chapter done! Next chapter will have the confrontation (sort-of) with Micheal, and then probably Naomi will make an appearance (Starring as Castiel's disapproving conservative mother).


	5. Laps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for Naomi comes from a particularly distasteful aunt of mine.

“A crack in the smoke machine? Lieutenant, how did this happen?” Michael’s voice was stern and siding more towards ‘vindictive older brother’ than ‘concerned superior officer’.

Castiel sighed, his arm clasped behind his back in attention, “I don’t know, Sir.”

“You don’t know? Cracks don’t just happen, Lieutenant,” Michael’s back was ram-rod straight, his lips twitching at the corner in an effort not to outright scowl. “We don’t have room in the budget to constantly be fixing your mistakes.”

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes, (despite that fact that Michael was his brother, on duty he was his commanding officer) “With all due respect, Sir. But the crack is no bigger than a hair line. 2nd Lieutenants Mitchell and Barnett will have fixed in under an hour with no need for replacements.”

Michael furrowed his brows the way he always does when he feels his superiority is being undermined, “Whether or not the Rutherford’s smoke machine will need to be replaced is not the concern; the concern is your flagrant disregard for your aircraft. This is the third repair the Rutherford has required this month. We can’t afford to constantly be repairing it.”

Castiel’s face remained the stone statue it had been carved into for military service and family get-togethers as he retorted, “The Rutherford is old. She’s from ’66. A little wear is expected.”

Michael’s scowl reached his upper lip in a judgmental twist, “The smoke machine isn’t old. It’s only seven years old. There’s no reason for it to have so many problems!”

“One crack is not a problem. Two cracks maybe; but one is simply manageable,” Castiel steeled himself for the back lash.

“Don’t get cheeky. I’m not impressed with your constant disrespect. I may be your brother, but I’m also your Lieutenant-Colonel. You will respect my position of authority,” Michael’s rage was a calm fury, the kind you saw before a storm really started to pick up. Oddly enough Castiel had never witnessed the actual storm.

“What would you have me do, Sir? I can’t change what already is,” Castiel’s tone was so subtly condescending that you had to blink twice before catching on.

Michael blinked, “File your report, do twenty laps around the hangar, then go home. We’re done for the day.”

Castiel nodded, “Sir.”

::::

He was tired. Not so tired as to curse his brother, but tired enough that his legs had an underlying ache that throbbed gently as he made his way to the garage on the south side of the hangar. Since the hangar was only in use when the Falcons flew into town, his mother (the mayor) had given him clearance to store his car there when he was away on duty. (This was mostly because Naomi Novak had a severe loathing for her son’s choice of vehicle and would prefer that it didn’t eat up space in her garage or otherwise ‘disparage the front lawn’ [three time winner of the Goderich garden club’s home of the year award.]

He pulled back the fabric sheet on the ’78 Lincoln Continental and coughed as a year’s worth of dust flew up into the air. He wheezed slightly as he pulled his keys out of his jeans (having changed out of his military issued green flight-suit) and shoved them inelegantly into the lock.

“God, I did not miss this car,” he threw his duffel (which he had picked up from the Rutherford’s tiny storage space) onto the passenger side seat and hunkered down for the ride into town.

He stared the car and grimaced as the heat blasted into his face, spewing dust every which way. He coughed and wheezed again and turned off the heating with and angry, pointed twist.

“Yep, definitely didn’t miss you.”

::::

“Castiel; you’re brother told me you wouldn’t be back for an hour,” Naomi Novak shook her son’s hand cordially as he walked through the door, his duffel on his shoulder and his hoodie slipping off his shoulders.

“Mother; you’re looking well this evening,” Castiel nodded politely if somewhat stiffly as he shifted his stance to one of stern indifference.

Naomi, who was wearing a slimming black pencil skirt and matching jacket only nodded at the compliment, “I’ve started seeing a new dietitian. Much better than the last one; she was Asian, so that might have been the problem.”

“Mother,” Castiel sighed heavily. His mother was so unapologetically racist it was like grinding nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh don’t act like you’re so high and mighty just because you kicked off to Nepal for a few months and ‘found yourself’. Now come on, I ordered Chinese food for dinner,” She waved her hand stiffly, a command for him to follow her to the kitchen.

He dumped his bag by the entrance, intending to bring it up to his room after the mandatory ‘homecoming meal.’ It was times like this (or basically every time he had to spend prolonged periods with his mother) that he wished he had bought his own house in Goderich instead of staying in his childhood home every time he flew back.

He unzipped the last bit of his hoodie that was still together and pulled it off his arms as he sat down at the petrified wood table his mother had bought at auction in the neighbouring town of Bayfield two years prior. (He was surprised his mother hadn’t moved there; the bourgeoisie feel of the downtown core was right up her prim-nosed alley. Of course, she was also loath to change ironically.)

Michael was already seated at the table, hands folded for grace. He looked up, slightly surprised to see Castiel there so early, “I thought you would have taken longer.”

Castiel rolled his eyes outwardly off duty, “I’m not a cadet anymore. Twenty laps around the Hangar is hardly a feat.”

Michael hummed, “I’ll think of a more suitable punishment next time.”

The embarrassment of having to run laps at his rank was punishment enough.

Naomi smoothed the non-existent wrinkles from her power-suit and sat down to a dinner of Chinese food from tin take-out containers to be eaten on fine bone china, “I’m sure whatever reprimand your brother gave you was fair and just. Now let’s pray. Our Father, who art in heaven…”

::::

“I can’t do this. I can’t stand another day in this stupid house,” Castiel breathed heavily into his cell phone.

“You say that every year; and every year you’re fine,” Balthazar reasoned with him.

“I mean it this time. There’s got to be an extra bunk I can use! Hell, there had to be at least fifty!” Castiel flung his left arm out on his old bed in exasperation. Dinner had only got worse as the evening progressed, culminating in his mother’s favourite past time of criticizing his sexuality with a sigh and a ‘So you still like men then?’ Somehow after fifteen years she still held on to the asinine hope that being gay was a choice.

Balthazar sighed, “Fifty extra bunks with no mattresses. There was a bed-bug infestation last fall. Everything had to be thrown out. They only replaced what they knew we would use….and since you’ve always stayed at home…well, there’s only one bunk with a mat and it’s with the women.”

Castiel sighed, “I’d take it at this point. There’s only so much of this I can take.”

“Well, survive the first week at least. After the rest of us head out I’m sure you can bunk in here. That or actually buy a house. You have what, 100 thousand saved up? That’s more than enough for a down payment,” Balthazar suggested.

Castiel shook his head, “That’s for retirement.” He had saved up that money over the past ten years of his military service.

Balthazar scoffed, “You have an army pension and plenty of time to make more money. Besides, are you really going to retire in your mother’s home? I don’t’ think so. If anything, I’m sure you could rent a room for a month. What about that guy you dust crops for?”

“Daniel? I don’t know, he’s a bit of a loner; doesn’t really like company. It’s a promising idea though. Maybe I’ll check the ads tomorrow.”

“There you go! Now hang up so I can get some sleep! Me and Anna are going to the Beach tomorrow,” He sounded far too pleased.

“You convinced Anna to go to the beach with you?” Castiel raised his brow in disbelief.

“Well, no. But I’m sure she’ll be all for it once she sees me in my new Speedo.”

“Good luck with that. I’ve seen your goods…they’re not that good.”

Balthazar snorted, “Rude. Anyway, I’ll talk later, Cassie.”

“Night, Balthazar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenants are unlikely to receive laps as punishment, but I'm not in the military and have no idea how these things actually work so artistic license is heavily implied. (besides, I doubt the military would ever put two siblings on the same squadron when one out-ranks the other)


	6. Golden

Dean borrowed Daniel’s truck on Wednesday and went to the market place with a trailer hitched to the back. A thrice folded list scribbled on a discarded McDonald’s receipt sat on the dashboard, describing exactly what Dean need to buy in order to care for goats.

Dean tapped his fingers lazily on the steering wheel as he drove. Daniel’s record collection was minimal (that is to say there were four of them and all of them were old country blues); therefore Dean had switched on the radio to play whatever top forty drivel the system was pumping out these days. He reluctantly admitted that Taylor Swift wasn’t all that bad.

He parked the ford at the side of the building where animals were walked out after auction and hopped out of the rusted death-trap, making sure to swipe the list from the dash.

“You oughta take better care of your vehicle,” the same lanky character that had refused him pumpkin seeds gave Dean and the old truck a once over. He was leaning self-contentedly against the metal siding of the large, barn-like building with a cigarette between his fingers.

Dean turned to the truck and shrugged, “It ain’t mine.”

“Well, still. That thing is a mess. You here for the auction?” he pushed off the building with his foot and threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out before it caught fire to the dirtied hay that seemed to litter the entirety of the ground around the farmer’s market.

Dean nodded, “Yeah. Gonna buy me some goats.”

(If Dean was aware of the size of his smile he would have whole-heartedly denied it.)

The man raised a brow and shrugged, “That door there.”

He pointed towards a double door entrance and Dean nodded, “Thanks.”

“No problem. Name’s Ash by the way,” he stuck out his hand which Dean shook politely (if reluctantly.)

“Nice to meet you; I’m going inside now,” He took his hand away awkwardly and scuttled towards the door.

Upon pushing it open he was assaulted with the sudden stench of a thousand cow patties and the noise of one very enthusiastic auctioneer, “110,110, do I see 120? 120,130,140, do I see 150? 150, 200,200…do I see 250? 250, 250, 250. Sold, to the gentleman at the front there.”

Dean only caught half of what the man said, “Guess I’ll have to wing it then.”

He sat down on one of the benches leading down to a round-about pit of sorts where the animals were paraded through one door for show before being lead out a second door until they were picked up.

Dean opened up the folded receipt and scanned the items quickly:

  1.       You’re gonna need to spend a shit ton of money
  2.       Don’t buy bucks unless you plan on breeding.
  3.       Get the ones with shiny coats and clean hooves.



Dean shrugged, “Okay then.”

“First time?” A woman next to him smiled nicely. She had a short pixie cut that was just beginning to curl behind her ears and her attire screamed farmer.

Dean looked over in mild surprise, “Oh, yeah. I came to buy goats.”

The woman nodded, “They’re a lot of work. You think you’re up to it?”

Dean shrugged, “Well, I’m only going to get three or four.”

The woman hummed, “Well. Make sure they’re good ones then.”

Dean nodded.

They both turned to look at the pit as a large cow was brought out.

“So uh…how do you tell if they’re good ones?” he asked over the noise of the auction pit.

She raised her brow at him, “Shiny coat for starters. No weird lumps, good oral health, etc.”

Dean nodded, “Right… listen, would you mind...”

“I’ll help you,” she cut him off, “Lord knows I help enough people at work, I might as well do it on my day off.”

Dean smiled, “Thanks. So uh…where do you work?”

She smiled, “I’m the sheriff. Sheriff Jody Mills.”

She stuck out her hand and Dean shook it, “Oh! I think I meet your foster daughter. She rang me through at Wal-mart.”

“Annie? Yeah, she’s always complaining about being the sheriff’s kid. But that’s because she smokes pot under the bleachers and thinks I don’t know about it and will rat her out,” she shrugged.

Dean rose his brow and smiled, “Oh?”

She shrugged again, “There’d be no point if I did. So many kids do it around here, it’s not like I can bring them all in. Plus what’s the point in wasting government resources on something as small as a little bag of weed? I’ve got bigger problems.”

“In a town like this?” Dean was a little skeptical that a place like Goderich could have a crime rate at all.

She nodded, “You’d be surprised. We had a murder not too long ago; a serial killer actually. Thomas Mason.”

Dean shook his head; somehow the fact that he was living in this guy’s house kept slipping his mind (likely because it wasn’t a very pleasant fact and therefore his unconscious was shoving it as far back as possible.)

“Oh, yeah…I moved in there a week ago…the house on Gore street,” he scratched his neck as he spoke, a nervous tick that he developed sometime between joining the military and being discharged.

Jody made a sound of recognition, “You’re Dean then? Daniel told me a friend of his was taking the place.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah. Dean Winchester… I guess I should have introduced myself earlier.”

Jody shrugged, “its fine, we would have gotten there eventually. Oh, here comes a good goat.”

She gestured to the pit where a gold-coloured doe was being brought out, “See, this one has a nice coat, no visible lumps, the oral health you’ll have to inspect afterwards but it’s likely fine. Hooves seem neat. See there, the utter is well-rounded. She’ll be a good milking goat.”

Dean nodded, “She’s pretty uh….”

The goat gave a startled bleat and waved its head in a circle before kicking and stomping in a little fit.

“Maybe not…” Jody shook her head.

Dean laughed, “Oh man! That goat is hilarious!”

He raised his head to start the bidding as the announcer began.

Jody put her hand on Dean’s shoulder, intending to tell him the goat likely had some behavioural issues, but no one else bid on the goat and Dean was confirmed almost instantly.

“Sold!”

:::::

Dean drove back home with four new goats in the back trailer. The golden coloured one from the beginning of the auction, two white goats that were relatively normal, and one that was brown with long hair that reminded him of Sam.

He opened the gate of the trailer and began herding them towards the goat house like Daniel had taught him to. They all began to fall in line quickly, following Dean towards their new home. Well, all except for one….

“No! Bad Goat!” Dean yelled as the golden goat began heading in the opposite direction towards the front porch.

Dean ran over to it and pushed on its side, “Come on. You belong in the goat house.”

He managed to get them all in line again and after about ten minutes of struggling they were in their enclosure with food, water, and all the other stuff he had set up for them.

“Well. That wasn’t so bad…”

_BLAAHHHLLLHHH_

“Son of a bitch…”

The golden goat was apparently an escape artist (or liked to think she was) as she was attempting to shove her entire body through the bottom bars on the metal gate.

“What are you even trying to do?”

Dean shook his head and tried to shove the goat through the bars and back into the enclosure.

_BLAHHHHHHTTHHH_

The goat stumbled backwards and flopped over on its side.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dean shook his head. “I’m going inside, so…go do goat stuff or something.”

::::::

_BLAHHHHHHHSSST_

“What…” Dean woke up in the middle of the night to loud bleating. The goats had been a little noisy throughout the day, but not to this volume.

He shucked the covers off his body and padded down the stairs to investigate. He grabbed his flashlight from a hook near the door and walked not two steps on to the back porch before noticing the golden goat was standing next to him.

_BLAHHHHHSSS_

“You again…how did you get out?”

The goat bleated loudly before pushing its way into the house.

“Oh no…no, you are not allowed in there!” Dean chased the goat into the house where he found it climbing up the stairs.

“What is... why?” Dean followed the goat up the stairs and into his bedroom where it decided the foot of his bed was a perfectly acceptable place to be.

Dean picked the goat up in his arms and it wiggled violently.

_BLLLLAAAHHEEE_

“No! This not a goat place! No goat’s in here!”

_BALLLLAHHHH_

The goat thrashed and kicked as Dean carried it to the enclosure.

“There. No more Houdini acts you hear me?”

He shook his head and went back to the house.

:::::

_BLAAAHAHHHH_

“Shit.”

:::::

Dean ended up having to put the goat back in its enclosure four times before he gave up and let it sleep on the end of his bed. When he woke up the goat followed him downstairs and stood by his feet as he made breakfast.

He looked away from his pancakes to look at the goat with raised eyebrows, “You’re like some kind of weird goat-dog mix or something…It’s creepy.”

_BLALLLLHHH_

“Yeah, yeah,” he flipped his pancakes over and on to his plate.

Before he could even put down the spatula though, the goat was on its hind legs and snatching the top one from the plate.

“Hey!”

The goat practically hoovered the pancake into her mouth at a speed that even Dean was impressed with.

“You like pancakes huh? Maybe I should call you that then. Pancake.”

_BLAAAH_

“Still; you do that again and I’m not letting you sleep on my bed anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dream is to have a goat named Pancake, so that's what's happening here. Sorry it took so long to update btw; i've been putting all my energy into work and school lately so haven't had the time to write leisurely.


	7. IAV Stryker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so It's been a while. Couldn't get past the writer's block and even then the chapter is just a filler. But next chapter will be the air show!!!!   
> Also, a taste of dean's history in the army thrown into this chapter.

Thursday saw Castiel standing in front of the community boards in the local real-estate office. There weren’t many people with rooms for rent in such a small town. (There were a couple of houses for rent to mine-workers, but he didn’t fit that bill.)

“We don’t have a lot Novak, I’m not going to lie,” Tamara (Goderich’s best real-estate agent) stood next to him with her arms crossed. 

“No. You really don’t.” 

He sighed and tapped his finger on a yellowing page advertising a room for rent just outside of Kintail (a half hour from the town and the plot where he kept his crop duster), “What about this one?” 

“Oh, that shouldn’t even be up there. It was filled a month ago,” Tamara frowns and quickly pulls the pin from the ad and throws it away.

Castiel sighed again, “Alright. Guess I’ll be staying at home still.” 

Tamara nodded solemnly, “Sorry Novak. If you’re really desperate you could put up a wanted ad.” 

Castiel nodded, “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

Maybe he ought to give Daniel a call.

::::

“Sorry Castiel. I got no room here. I mean…I have room, but none I’m willing to rent out. I like my privacy,” Daniel’s voice was gruff and firm as he relayed his answer. 

Castiel nodded, “I understand.” 

::::

Dean had four days until he had to report to the salt mine for work and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with those days. Other than feed the goats and work on turning over the dirt in the field (which he did in the morning with little trouble), he had no plans (and no friends other than Daniel). 

At that particular moment on Thursday afternoon he was sitting on his front porch with a beer in his hand and Pancake and Sammy Junior sitting at his feet. 

Pancake was swinging her head in circles and Junior was munching on a piece of straw when the phone rang inside.   
Dean sighed, set down his beer and pushed Pancake away from his boots as he trudged inside to pull the old corded phone off the wall.

“Hello?” 

“Dean! You finally got the landline hooked up then?” Daniel’s voice called over the sound of rotating drills and motors.

“Yeah; what’s up? You at the mine?” 

“Yeah I’m at the mine. Listen, one of the trucks is on the fritz. You busy right now or can I drag your ass into work early?” 

Dean looked over at the old cuckoo clock hanging on the wall (a relic from the attic that saved him from buying a clock), “I can come in. Have the blueprints ready when I get there.”

“Will do!” 

::::::

After struggling to get Pancake to calm down and stay in the pen, he headed out to the Salt mine in his ’67 Chevy with no real expectations in mind. He had been a solider before he became an engineer, and even when he became an engineer he still worked in his capacity as a soldier. He’d never worked on dump trucks before, but he’d been put briefly in charge of the maintenance of an IAV Stryker (an eight-wheeled tank; specifically a M1133 Medical Evacuation Vehicle which ironically was for providing aid to injured troops [ironic because of the machine gun on top]) so figured that he could handle a dump-truck. 

He pulled his car into a crowded lot and followed a sign that said ‘worker’s entrance’. It brought him to a building where upon entering he was assaulted with the smell of oil, salt, and slick water. There was a small machine on the left wall that Dean assumed was for clocking in, and next to it a variety of laminated posters instructing workers on safety procedures and exit strategies. The rest of the walls were lined lockers and shelves for employee belongings. 

“Dean!” 

Dean turned his head to see Daniel entering from a heavy metal door that was hidden snugly between a set of lockers on the other side of the room. 

“Hey. So what’s this about a dump truck?” He rubbed his hands on his jeans and looked around.

“We’ll get to that. First you have to report to the division supervisor, then you have to go through the exit procedures and safety training as well as sign more paperwork and get your badge, equipment, and jumpsuit. Also more paperwork….in fact you’ll probably not get to work on the truck until tomorrow….but the bosses thought it would be a good idea to get that shit done sooner than later,” Daniel hummed thoughtfully. 

Dean sighed, “Lead the way then.” 

:::::

Dean was elbow-deep in machinery when Daniel brought it up. 

“So I hear that Castiel Novak is looking for a place to stay,” Daniel suggested.

“What of it?” Dean got his hand around a bracket and pulled on it with a grunt. 

“Well I was thinking you could rent a room to him. He’s never in town anyway. It’d be for a few weeks at most at a time. You could use the extra cash for your mortgage payments,” Daniel handed him a wrench when he stretched out his hand for it.

“I don’t do roommates,” Dean closed the wrench around a bolt and tightened it until his muscles couldn’t pull it any tighter. 

Daniel scoffed, “You were in the military; you’ve been bunking down with fellas for years.” 

“Yeah. So I deserve my peace, free of all that,” Dean had no desire to share his home with someone else. After all that had happened, the last thing he needed was another soldier in his sanctuary reminding him of everything he was trying to run from.

“Don’t you get lonely in that big old house?”

“Hey, you live alone too old man!”

“I’ve got Marie to keep me company.” 

“Your bulldog?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay then.”

Dean shook his head, “I’m still not doing it.” 

Daniel huffed, “Well whatever. Thought I’d try. You wanna go see the show though?”

“Hmm?” 

“Castiel’s air-show. It’s in two days. There’ll be food vendors too.” 

Dean shrugged, “Sure. Why not?” (Dean wasn't one to turn down an invitation for food.)


	8. Falcon 4 Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I'm frequently afflicted with writers block.

Dean was in heaven. There had to be at least fifteen food vendors in the entrance to the park alone (it was actually more of a boardwalk along a long stretch of beach, but the town called it a park so that’s what it was). The first thing he spotted was a fries and burgers truck and he made an instant beeline for it.

“Hold on would ya?” Daniel grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back. “Let’s find a good place to sit first before we stuff our faces.”

“What’s the point of that? I could care less about the air show, I’m here for a greasy, kill-your-arteries burger,” Dean huffed.

“Yeah, and I actually care about the air show. Why don’t I find a spot to sit and you grab the food?” Daniel compromised.

“Sounds good to me,” Dean didn’t wait to see where Daniel was going before he headed over to the food truck.

He ordered two bacon-double cheeseburgers, both with chilli cheese fries and two cokes (there wasn’t any beer allowed at the air show.) He stuffed the foil-wrapped burgers into his pockets along with the cokes, thanking whoever made his pants that they made the pockets deep. He balanced the cheese fries in his hands and made his way to where he saw Daniel sitting down in the distance.

“Here,” He handed the man his fries and dug the burgers and pop out of his jeans.

"You're going to die before I do if you eat like this all the time,” Daniel chastised his eating habits but didn't complain as he shoveler cheese fries into his own mouth.

Dean plopped himself down into the fold-out lawn chair and took a bite from his burger, “Hypocrite.”

It came out muffled with all the burger in his mouth and Daniel wrinkled his nose in disgust, “You’re a slob Dean.”

Dean shrugged and swallowed, “What can you do?”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! THE GODRICH LIONS CLUB PRESENTS THE 44TH ANNUAL BLACK FALCON FLIGHT SHOW!” A booming female voice echoed out over a P.A system and the rather large crowd (nearly the entire town) started whooping and cheering.

Dean hummed lazily and took another bite of his burger, looking out toward the sky above the lake in anticipation of the supposedly ‘amazing’ air show.

The whirring sound of engines filled the park’s sky and Dean watched as nine planes flew into view.

Daniel leaned over to Dean as the planes started to form a circle, looping up in a line like a roller coaster, “Castiel is in the fourth one, the one with the blue stripe down the side.”

Dean squinted and saw that each plane in addition to being Red and white had different coloured racing stripes on the side.

After the first loop was done the planes separated off into two groups, circling around to fly head on at each other only to swerve at the last second and fly to safety. The crowd applauded, Dean nodded silent approval.

“Not bad huh?” Daniel grinned.

“CASTIEL!!! WHOOO!!!” A young girl sitting in front of them cheered as the blue stripped plane corkscrewed towards the water only to pull up and fly upside-down towards the lake, circling back after turning himself right-side up.

Dean was pretty impressed with the maneuver. He’d never flown himself and never had the desire too (he was terrified of flying) but he knew guys in the army who spent years trying to get that level of control over their machines.

There were several more stunts and each one was good, but Dean found that none of them quite seemed to compare to the way Castiel just flew. It was like he had such perfect control…

Dean enjoyed himself for a the first half hour, polishing off his fries and smiling as the Falcons did flips, twists, turns, and dives; then something went wrong.

::::

The little gauge that had never gone off before started beeping obscenely as Castiel flew over the lake towards Balthazar. Shit.

“Falcon 3. Disengage. My engine is shot,” He spoke rapidly into his com device and waited for the reply.

“Falcon 4, this is Falcon 3. Disengaging,” Balthazar’s plane dove under him just in time as the Rutherford started smoking.

“Falcon 4, this is Falcon 1. Try and get the plane back to the Tarmac. Falcon 2, fly to assist,” Michael’s voice echoed through the com, his voice slightly on edge. “The rest of you, shift to accommodate the loss.”

“Roger. Falcon 2 flying to assist.” Anna’s voice broke through the Castiel’s ears as he flipped switches on his control board, prepping for an emergency landing.

The Rutherford sputtered out a billow of smoke and Castiel cursed as it blocked his vision, blowing over his cockpit, “Falcon 2, I can’t see worth a damn.”

“Falcon 4, try and bank a left towards the fields. We’ll have to but you down there,” Anna’s voice was clam and Castiel could vaguely make out the sound of the Trudeau flying just above him.

“Roger, Falcon 3, going in for an emergency landing,” Castiel pushed down on his controls and banked to the left and towards a field that vaguely looked like corn crops.

Just as he was nearing the ground the engine blew. Fire was blazing in the engine and a piece of metal flew up, cracking his windshield. Castiel cursed and got ready to eject, there was no way the Rutherford was going to land safely now.

“Castiel! Eject Now!” Anna was frantic.

“Ejecting!”

Castiel pulled the trigger for ejection and nothing happened.

“It's not working! Something’s wrong, I..” He was cut off as the Rutherford smashed into the earth.

:::::

Dean and everyone else watched as Castiel’s plane blew over their heads, smoke billowing from it’s front.

“That can’t be good. Dean, come on. We're getting the truck,” Daniel threw his Coke can into. The nearest recycling bin and headed for the parking lot.

 


	9. The Jaws of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned to see what happens to Cas! :O

They drove until they saw flames in the cornfield not twelve acres away from Daniel’s farm. 

They were the first to arrive. 

“Shit! Dean, grab the extinguisher from the bed!” Daniel slammed the truck door shut as he he ran towards the flaming wreckage of a plane. 

Dean swore under his breath as he hurried out of the truck and scrambled for the extinguisher, his hands fumbled around in the mess of blankets and wires and bags of dirt before coming up with what he needed. 

Stay with me soldier!

Dean shook his head and ran out towards the field.

He pulled the hook from the extinguisher as he went and went to put the flames when he caught sight of the man inside the plane. 

BENNY! HANG ON! 

“What are you waiting for!” Daniel grabbed the extinguisher from his hands and began spraying the front of the plane with thick white foam. “Get him out of there!” 

Dean hadn’t even realized he’d froze. 

He shook his head again and ran to the crushed cockpit. 

It looked like Castiel’s leg was crushed under the metal of the control board. His head was bleeding profusely as he lay unconscious. 

Dean drove his arms into the searing hot metal and broken glass and wrapped his arms around the slighter man’s shoulders. He pulled.

“Shit. Daniel! His leg is caught. Nothing but the jaws of life are going to pry him out without serious damage to his leg!” 

“We don’t got time for the jaws of life kid! There’s fuel leaking everywhere! One spark is all it’s gonna take to throw all three of us straight into hell!” 

“Who says I’m going to hell?!” 

Dean leaned into the cockpit as far as he could and pushed down on Castiel’s leg. It didn’t budge.   
Tell my kids I love them, Dean. Do that for me, Brother. 

Dean wasn’t going to let this guy die. 

He reached in again and with a wince of sympathy, dislocated Castiel’s kneecap. 

His leg went limp and pliable and Dean nearly puked as he twisted it around nearly 90 degrees in order to pull it out from under the control panel. Once his leg was free he grabbed his shoulders again and pulled, hauling him out of the wreckage, swearing as he cut himself on the broken glass.

“Dean! Quick!” Daniel ran over to him and grabbed Castiel’s legs.

Together they shuffled quickly towards the bed of the truck. They just managed to put Castiel on the edge of the truck bed when in the distance the front cockpit exploded, sending shards of metal and glass all around the burning corn. 

“Well damn. I’m going to have to replant.” 

:::

The cops and medics arrived shortly after they made it to the main road, Castiel laying bloody on Dean’s lap in the back of the truck as Daniel drove. 

“Hang in there man,” Dean ran his hand through Castiel’s hair, having removed the googles and flight helmet in order to check the damage to his head. 

“Oh god,” A female voice greeted them as the medics hefted Castiel away from Dean and on to a gurney. 

Dean looked to see a fiery shock of red hair run past him to fawn over Castiel’s limp body. 

“Castiel... I’m so sorry I couldn’t land the plane closer to you. I could have been here sooner. I ran so fast…” She reached out to touch his face but was scolded away by the paramedic.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stay calm ma'am.” 

Dean watched the exchange in a sort of daze as Castiel was dragged into the ambulance and the woman climbed in after him. 

It wasn’t until the ambulance pulled away and the police began taking a statement from Daniel that he realized the woman had been dressed in the same uniform as Castiel. 

“Sir?” Dean snapped his attention to the skinny officer in front of him.   
“Sorry, can you repeat that?” 

“If you’re not feeling up to giving a statement we can come by tomorrow to collect one,” The officer smiled sweetly in an attempt to comfort him. 

Dean only nodded, “Yeah…Okay.” 

::::


	10. Nerve Damage

This first thing Castiel hears when he wakes up is a slow beeping sound. The second thing he hears is yelling.

“THEY SHOULD HAVE CHECKED HIS PLANE PROPERLY!”

“NONE OF THIS IS THEIR FAULT, MICHEAL! THIS SORT OF THING COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANYONE!”

“BUT IT HAPPENED TO HIM!”

Castiel groaned and tried to roll over onto his side, only to be greeted with immense pain all over his body.

“Now, now, Castiel. We don’t need you hurting yourself more than you already are,” a kind female voice came from his left and he looked over to see a nurse with dark brown hair pulled up in a tight bun.

“Where…” He cleared his throat, “Where am I? What Happened?”

“You’re in the hospital at Alexandra Marine and General. You were in a plane crash. Do you remember?”

Castiel blinked, “I don’t remember crashing…I remember smoke, and fire…then nothing.”

The nurse nodded, “They said you were unconscious when you were found. Two very brave men pulled you out of the wreckage before it went up in flames.”

Castiel tried to take in all the knowledge that was being handed to him with no small amount of shock, “What happened to the Rutherford?”

“The plane?”

“Yes.”

“The police had it hauled away. It’s sitting in an evidence lockup somewhere.”

Castiel nodded, “O-Okay.”

His plane was in pieces, his body was aching...could the day get any worse?

“CASSIE! You’re awake!” The door burst open and three bodies shoved their way into his little hospital room.

He noticed Balthazar was the one to speak, and subsequently the first to rush to his side. Castiel tried to glare a little as the blonde man pressed kisses to his bruised forehead, “Don’t you ever, ever…pull a stunt like that again!”

Castiel chuckled, “Wasn’t my best one was it?”

Balthazar whined and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, being careful of the weaving of bandages on his torso.

“Okay, stop smothering him,” Anna pushed he way into his view. “Hey Castiel, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit? God, everything hurts.”

“I’m just glad you’re alive. Mom would have killed me if you died,” Micheal came to stand by his left side, placing a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

Castiel sighed, “Actually I’m not sure she’d care that much.”

“Castiel, let’s not start this now,” Micheal frowned.

“Okay you three. Out. I need to check a few things with Castiel and then the doctor is going to come in and explain to him what’s going to happen from there.”

Micheal nodded, “Alright. Come on then.”

He lead the others out of the room and Castiel was able to focus his attention on the nurse who dialled up the amount of morphine on his IV drip.

“Oh, you’re giving me the good stuff,” Castiel sunk farther into the bed as the medicine hit his system.

The nurse chuckled, “Morphine and gravol, it does wonders.”

Castiel chuckled, “Oh I can tell.”

His pain started to lessen almost immediately as the pain medication pumped through his blood stream.

“You’re vitals are steady right now so I’m going to go get the doctor for you.”

“Thank you…”

“Lisa.”  
“Lisa.”

Lisa smiled and closed the door quietly on her way out.

About ten minutes later a small rap on the door sounded through the the room before it opened to reveal a stocky man in a white lab coat.

“Mr. Novak. I’m Doctor Tussan. You had quite the accident,” Dr. Tussan came over his bed and pulled a clipboard from the end.

“Give it me straight, Doc,” Castiel giggled, “Always wanted to say that.

Dr. Tussan hummed in amusement, “Well, you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Castiel paled just a little, “Will I fly again?”

Dr. Tussan sighed, “Five fractured ribs, a fractured collar bone, trauma to the head, dislocated kneecap and your entire right leg’s muscles were completely torn. We had to do a major operation and will likely have to do another just to repair the damage.”

Castiel swallowed the urge to look at his leg, “But will I be able to fly?”

The doctor sighed again, “Mr. Novak, It will be a miracle if you can ever properly walk again. Your left leg is undamaged, but the severe nerve damage alone in your right leg…well, If the second surgery can’t fix it… We may have to amputate.”

"What?” Castiel was shocked. He threw back his blanket back to reveal a swollen, heavily bandaged calf and thigh.

“All of it?” He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat seemed to get bigger.

“Not all of it, just the knee and below.”

“That’s not making it seem much better.”

“I know. I’ll leave you to rest now. Oh, and by the way, the man who pulled you out of the plane is in the waiting room…If you’d like to see him,” Dr. Tussan smiled sadly.

Castiel nodded, “O-Okay.”

:::::

Dean sat impatiently in the waiting room. He didn't know Castiel, but after pulling him out of a flaming wreck, he figured it would be irresponsible not to at least follow up on how the guy was doing.

He fiddled with his cell-phone, sending a text to Sam quickly to let him know he was going to call that evening.

“Dean Winchester?” A stocky man came into the waiting room and Dean stood up immediately.

“Yes? How is he?”

The doctor sighed, “He’s stable right now. He wants to see you.”

Dean nodded, “Okay.”

He followed the doctor out of the waiting room and into the care ward where they walked down three halls until they reached room 34A. There were three people sitting outside on a bench and two of them got up upon seeing him.

“Your’e the one who pulled Cassie out of the Rutherford?” The tall, blonde man asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

“Thank you,” The man pulled Dean to him in a tight hug that wouldn't have been too uncomfortable if not for the fact that the man was crying.

“Yeah, no problem…” Dean patted the man on the shoulder and carefully extracted himself from his octopus grip.

“I don’t know what I’d do without him…seriously… Thanks.”

“Are you his…” Dean didn’t know what word to use.

“Me and Cassie? No,” the man chuckled, “He’s like a baby brother to me.”

Dean nodded, “Ah, okay. Um, do mind if I just…”

The man shook his head, “Oh! No, no, go ahead.” He gestured towards the door.

Dean nodded at the woman he recognized from the crash before opening the door to the hospital room.

He closed the door quietly behind him before turning to stare at the man in the bed. He was no longer covered in blood, instead he was wrapped in thick gauze all along his torso, head, and left leg. A blanket covered only his thighs and stomach. He looked like shit.

“Castiel?”

“Hey.”

“I’m Dean Winchester. Me and Daniel pulled you out of the plane.”

“I heard. Thanks.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

Castiel sighed, “I’m sorry for not being more talkative. I just found out I might never walk again.”

Dean blanched, “What?”

Castiel attempted to straighten himself only to groan in pain. “My leg suffered a lot of nerve damage… They may have to amputate from the knee down.”

Dean reached out to help Castiel sit up the way he wanted to, “I’m so sorry.”

Castiel shrugged, “Not your fault.”

Dean shook his head, “I tried to get you out without causing any damage to your leg, but you were pinned underneath the control panel. I had to dislocate your knee to get you out in time.”

Castiel groaned, “So you’re the reason I’m in so much pain.”

“I..”

“Relax. I’m joking,” Castiel clapped a hand down on Dean’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Seriously. If you hadn’t done what you did, I would have been in the dirt right now, instead I get to live another day.”

Dean shrugged, “Just doing my job.”

“Your job?” Castiel tilted his head to the side in a way that made Dean think of a small dog.

“Um, my old job I guess. I was soldier once too. Two tours in Afghanistan. Medical Evac.”

Castiel smiled, “Thank you for your service.”   
“No problem, Cas.”

“Cas?”

“I’m sorry, Castiel.”

“It’s fine. You can call me Cas.”

Dean smiled, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Cas?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare room would you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure whether to have Cas lose his leg or not. What do you guys want to see?

**Author's Note:**

> Writing as I go, so check sporadically for updates. Not sure how long this one will be.


End file.
